


The Gentleman's Companion

by ashilrak



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: Aziraphale could feel bony hips under soft fabric, could taste sweat as he kissed up the beauty’s neck, savoring the pulse under his skin. Whoever they were, they were filled with so much life, burning. Aziraphale was drawn and pulled forward like he never had been before. His hands pulled at buttons until he felt bare skin. The people around them drew closer.He clenched his hands, the feeling of his nails biting into his palms pulling him from his daydream.He licked his lips and asked himself, deep in the recesses of his mind, if this was temptation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts).



> It has been a While since I've written, let alone posted anything, so I'm very sorry if it's a bit rusty.

It was a typical enough day, really. 

Aziraphale brushed imaginary dirt off the front of his jacket as he looked out the filthy window. The sky was grey, the people walking passed were dressed in dark colors, all avoiding making eye contact with their fellow man with expertise. 

He smiled to himself. He had a magazine waiting in the back with the latest serial. The newest works had been leaning toward outrageous, emphasizing emotions and romance and all sorts of pleasures. Aziraphale was giddy just thinking about it. 

He heard the creak of the door before he could step away from the entrance. 

The two men didn’t notice him, too caught up in their conversation.

“Did you hear where Smith went the other night? Said he saw old Townsley there too?” one asked, brushing a stray piece of hair behind his ear. 

“No,” the other said. “Must be worth talking about if you’re asking.”

The first man, Aziraphale decided to call him Twitch, due to the motion his nose made when he spoke, snorted. “You have no idea, my friend, no idea at all.”

It didn’t appear as if either of the men had noticed Aziraphale. He kept an eye on them, weaving through the bookshelves as to be kept aware of their actions. It wouldn’t do for either of them to try to  _ buy  _ something.

The two men walked around the store in silence, eyes wandering the shelves, never stopping on anything.

“So, what is it?” Man Number Two asked.

“Madame Anathema’s.”

Man Number Two stopped mid-stride. “No,” he exclaimed. “Smith?” 

Twitch nodded, a certain gravity accompanying the action. 

“Huh,” Man Number Two breathed out after a moment. “I didn’t know one could just go to Madame Anathema’s.”

“You can’t,” Twitch said. “I got lucky. The Madame was feeling out of sorts I suppose, allowing me to go in at my friend’s side.”

Number Two raised a brow. “Did you...partake in any of the wares?”

Twitch shook his head, a bit too quickly. “Didn’t want to push my luck too much, you know.”

“Hmmm,” Number Two hummed, turning toward the book shelf that Aziraphale was hiding behind. “It’s likely she thought you were  _ accompanying _ that friend of yours.”

Twitch froze, hand outreached toward a book. “No,” he said. “That can’t be.”

Number Two shrugged.

Twitch dropped his hand and ran it over his chest, trying to make the act of smoothing his jacket appear to be his original intention. “Well, the past is past, I suppose.”

“You suppose correctly.”

Aziraphale held back a giggle. Number Two’s tone reminded him of Crowley. He could imagine it all too clearly. 

Not that he should be imagining Crowley. 

The two men didn’t stay for long. They lingered just enough to look like they were browsing, but not long enough as to appear to be loitering. A delicate balance, that one. Aziraphale was almost impressed. 

As soon as the door shut behind Twitch’s back, Aziraphale retraced the men’s footsteps. He had to make sure everything was exactly as it should be. All the books were exactly where they needed to be. Aziraphale breathed out a sigh of relief. They hadn’t touched anything. Perfect. 

He smiled to himself and pulled on the front of his coat to straighten it. If all went well, that’d be his excitement for the day. 

Aziraphale saw something out of the corner of his eye as he looked over the shelves one more time, a little book on the floor. He picked it up. 

It was a small little thing, not more than a pamphlet, really. 

_ The Gentleman’s Companion: A Guide to Moral Behavior in London _

Aziraphale let out a pleased laugh as he pocketed it. It was perfect! Was he not posing as a gentleman? And it’d be useful to know what the humans were telling themselves if he ever needed to report to head office. 

And if Crowley might also find it useful to know what humans didn’t want to find themselves doing, that was no one’s business but his own. 

\---

Aziraphale closes the store at exactly 7:28, according to his watch. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders once he locked the door. Just him, his books, and a bottle of wine with his name on it. 

He sat down and was suddenly reminded of the small book in his pocket. 

He stood up to light a candle, a little more light filling the room, before he sat down again. The book wasn’t very large. In fact, Aziraphale was more than certain that if he were to put it on his shelf among his other books, it’d be near invisible. A part of him wondered if that was by design.

It started off simply enough.

_ London is an ancient metropolis, bursting with life, energy, and commerce. Too great in number are its experiences to list here, so we shall not endeavor to do so. The gentleman reading this is, we are sure, already acquainted with the sorts of attractions that might draw a man to this beloved city. If the gentleman is not, they may walk up to any one of the residents of London to get a summary.  _

_ Instead of telling the gentleman where to go, we shall instead speak of where not to go. Accompanying all of the wonders of the city is a great deal of things not-so-wondrous. We do not wish for the unsuspecting gentleman to choose his boarding house unknowingly and find himself surrounded by immorality and sin. Treat this book as a warning, given from us more experienced London residents to the gentleman reading this, perhaps visiting for the first time. _

Aziraphale was more than aware that if he were to look at his reflection in that moment he’d find his eyebrows closer to his hairline than not. This was the first book of this sort that he’d ever seen.

He flipped through the pages, curiosity sparked.

_ When strolling the previously mentioned streets between the hours of 7 and 11 o’clock, a gentleman is likely to encounter many beautiful women. They are well-dressed and young, appearing to be between 15 and 25 years of age. What is most shocking about their appearance is that they are strolling about unaccompanied. A gentleman will generally find that these women are, in addition to being well-dressed, good-looking, intelligent, and educated and the matters that might interest a gentleman. _

_ We are begrudged to inform you that these women belong to a category of behavior that can be classified as immoral. They make their livelihood by inviting suitors into rented rooms for unscrupulous activities. The finer the lady, the more likely she is to be talented at her chosen career, be it simply knowing or thieving. They are difficult to distinguish from the upstanding woman of our city, but they behave in the manner of baser animals, flocking in groups and fighting one another in order to attract the most eligible mate.  _

Aziraphale frowned. He thought that humans had moved beyond such animal ways. He had grown fond of some of the more intricate rituals the humans insisted on for conversation, eating, and making acquaintance. They were lovely, careful practices in delaying pleasure and making it all the sweeter.

Too often he had dreamed of having someone to woo, just to see what it was like. Aziraphale could imagine a sense of satisfaction rising within him at the sight of a flush high on someone’s cheeks after an accidental brush of hands. He would feel warm as he watched his lover eat a delicious meal, outside eyes looking in and wondering at their happiness.

Oh, to be happy and in love and on the brink of  _ something _ and for everyone to see. 

\--

The small book was set out on his desk, separate from everything else. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. It was innocent enough looking, on its own, and yet Aziraphale didn’t dare open it again. He couldn’t quite bring himself to put it away, and so it remained.

Aziraphale made a habit of distracting himself with an assortment of the latest serials. He kept the pile of magazines and newspapers on a chair right next to his desk. It was a matter of ease to reach over and grab whatever fate had in store for him that day. 

This one was originally in French and looked to be a lovely little twist on a previously published story. It had been translated by a man by the name of George Cannon.

He’d always been so entertained by what the humans had to offer.

Aziraphale took a sip of wine and settled into the comfortable armchair he had especially for this purpose, throwing the shortest of glances toward the small, empty sofa up against the other wall.

This was one of the lesser known magazines. Aziraphale had heard that it wasn’t something you showed to your wife, but it was perfect for those who enjoyed some time to themselves. As he didn’t have a wife and lived alone, he thought it was quite suitable.

It’s about ten minutes later that Aziraphale drops the magazine in shock, the words and images flowing through his mind finally processing.

He hadn’t known humans  _ published _ this sort of content.

It was simply absurd, the sort of things they discussed. And Aziraphale highly doubted that it was just expected to encounter so many women so willing to ruin their reputation with such little impetus! 

In fact, he knew for certain that many women were not so charmed by the behavior of their husbands when they acted in such manners! People tended to find solace in the stacks of his shop, and were more willing to speak of things they shouldn’t to close friends when surrounded by books, for whatever reason.

The images flooding his mind weren’t going away, but they were shifting. The soft feminine forms suggested by the text were morphing, becoming sharper and smaller in certain areas.

Aziraphale shook his head and set the magazine far, far away from him. 

\--

The days passed in their typical monotonous blur that Aziraphale always debated with himself over breaking.

Every so often he’d catch a glimpse of a woman’s bosom or a man’s fitted waistcoat and be reminded of the words used to describe what was underneath. 

It had been easy to push the thought away the first few times.

But, as the days passed, they grew a tendency to linger. Just as his eyes did on the magazine still set in a far corner and the guidebook on his desk. 

It didn’t take long for his curiosity to wine out, after all, Aziraphale had never finished the guidebook, and really, it could be describing any sort of sin. Humans always had been rather fond of it.

_ There a great deal of public houses available for lodgings and entertaining for the visiting gentleman. The “Oxford Garden” is a large hall operating on a pretty girl waiting system. Across the street are three Concert Venues which are conducted in a quiet and orderly manner. These venues are called “The Dew Drop Inn,” “Eureka,” and “Palace Garden.” _

_ If the gentleman keeps wandering, he will encounter Regent Street. There is a large red lamp in front of No. 25 that marks the establishment of Harold Warton. This is one of the more popular resorts for gentlemen. It is conducted with the highest levels of grace, and the landlord is quick and skillful at finding the proper entertainment for both friends and patrons. Any hour spent here will be more than pleasant. _

Perhaps this was the solution to his problem. Aziraphale was finding that his imaginings of slim hips and pale skin were fading as he read the author’s description of recommendations for lodgings. And to think he had been filled with anxiety at the thought of reading the small book again!

He flipped a few pages forward, both to quell his anxiety and satiate his curiosity. Something seemed  _ off _ about the pamphlet. 

_ The next house, no. 55, is kept by a woman known as Ms. Ada Blashfield, a dashing brunette with approximately nine or ten boarders, both blonde and brunette. These are a pretty lot of girls, of both pleasing and engaging manners. We consider it to be a first class house, both very quiet and very orderly. Some of the first citizens of our city are known to visit it. _

Aziraphale was no fool. He blamed his own lack of experience with such matters for his slow uptake. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with prostitution, had never participated in any aspect of the trade, but he’d been known to perform a miracle or two a lady’s direction after being solicited. He had always figured it wasn’t a trade one entered by choice, but knew better than to interfere directly.

If he thought the letters from head office were bad now, he was sure they’d become intolerable. He’d overheard Gabriel once telling Uriel that whores were good for the balance of things, and had been the cause of a sinner’s downfall more than once. They were viewed similarly to weapons.

Aziraphale knew better than to voice his own concerns.

The mental images that had faded were back with full force as he pushed thoughts of Gabriel from his mind. The thought of dark satin on warm skin was so much more insistent now, armed with the knowledge that he had a literal guide on exactly where to bring the images to life.

Perhaps he was weak, but for the first time, Aziraphale sat back and let his mind wander.

There were multiple figures, some dressed in resplendent ballgowns in vivid shades of scarlet, others in dark suits he saw on the streets every day. There were dozens of people, all staring at him with mouths held slightly open, gazes enraptured. Surrounding him, circling him.

His mental version of himself wasn’t threatened by the audience, but thrilled. He stood tall, and pulled the mysterious figure closer to him. The features kept changing, but the general height and build staying the same.

Aziraphale could feel bony hips under soft fabric, could taste sweat as he kissed up the beauty’s neck, savoring the pulse under his skin. Whoever they were, they were filled with so much life, burning. Aziraphale was drawn and pulled forward like he never had been before. His hands pulled at buttons until he felt bare skin. The people around them drew closer. 

He clenched his hands, the feeling of his nails biting into his palms pulling him from his daydream.

He licked his lips and asked himself, deep in the recesses of his mind, if this was temptation.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Madame Tracy, an aging, but dashing, blonde, has splendidly furnished her place at 17 Regent Street, from top to bottom, sparing neither expense nor labor to render it palace of beauty forever, with its French mirrors, English and Brussels carpets, rosewood furniture, superb bedding and everything in character. This emporium of love and beauty is one of the finest in the city.  _

This particular entry was in a small section on the very last page of the book, headed not by a number of lady boarders, but by the words “Molly Houses.”

Maybe this was a sort of sign. Maybe Aziraphale was meant to see what sorts of ills humanity had gotten into under his watch. He couldn’t do much if he didn’t know how it all worked. It wouldn’t do to miracle up something that only made it worse, after all.

He was an angel, he needed to do the right thing. It was his job.

Aziraphale took in a deep breath and re-read the short description for Madame Tracy’s. 

_ This emporium of love and beauty is one of the finest in the city. _

He always had been a fan of fine things, and this was no different. Maybe it was time he found out what it was about this sexual intercourse that had humans all aflutter constantly. They’d been on to something with wine and chocolate. Aziraphale found that humans had a knack for discovering that sort of thing, the pleasures that weren’t necessary for life but certainly made it worth living. 

\--

It’s with a full coin purse and a weary sense of anticipation that Aziraphale sets down Regent Street. This could be a life changing moment. Either he was following the path the Plan set out for him, or he was going against it. 

Crowley might appreciate some company if it was the latter. 

But Aziraphale knew, in his heart of hearts, that it was the right thing. Pleasure was never bad. He was just helping the humans be better in getting that pleasure. 

The house was plain from the outside, unassuming. Aziraphale would have passed by it without a single thought if the address wasn’t burning a hole in his pocket. 

Aziraphale took in a deep breath as he stood outside the door. There was something telling him that just standing here was possibly the worst thing he could be doing, and yet he was struggling with whether or not to knock.

Would it be busy? Would they hear him? Would it be embarrassing and an obvious indicator that he didn’t belong? Not that he usually cared, but these sort of things were said to require a type of delicacy. 

After an unmeasured bit of time, Aziraphale raised his hand to knock on the door three times. 

Barely a moment passed before the door opened to reveal a beautiful young woman dressed as if she were expecting the wealthiest of suitors. 

“Do come on in, sir,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Your company is much appreciated.”

She pulled the door inward and Aziraphale was treated with the sight of a well-furnished parlour past her full skirts. 

He followed her and was guided to a sofa. The young woman sent him a smile before she walked through a door and vanished from view. Aziraphale leaned back and looked around, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs.

He was far from the only one there, even for how early in the day it was. Much earlier than usual for this sort of thing, he supposed. He had grown impatient. 

The parlour was arranged in a fashion so it felt larger and more private than it actually was, sets of chairs facing each other separated by small tables in a way that made it almost feel like a set of several small rooms. A few of the sets of chairs were filled by men, many with cigars hanging from their lips and half-full tumblers of amber liquid in hand.

The men weren’t alone. Sitting on laps and arms of chairs were women dressed just as fine as the one who had let him in, giggling amongst each other and stealing puffs of cigar smoke. One or two of the women seemed out of place, something almost off-putting about how they arranged themselves. 

Aziraphale let himself focus on one couple in-particular. The man’s cigar was particularly fat, and the woman in his lap was particularly awkward. She was taller than the man whose hand was resting on her hip. Her shoulders seemed too wide for her gown, her hips too narrow. 

Her waist was  _ delightfully _ thin and Aziraphale shifted in his seat, wondering if he’d be able to fully wrap his hands around it.

The woman pulled back from where she had been whispering in her gentleman companion’s ear, and Aziraphale suddenly realized that she wasn’t a woman at all, or at least not what the modern humans would call one. 

But she  _ was _ beautiful. Her sharp nose added such a gravitas to otherwise delicate features. Gorgeous.

Aziraphale pulled his gaze away from the enchantress and let his eyes wander. There were other men catching his attention now. The gorgeous woman was far from the only non-conformist present. The men not smoking or drinking held themselves differently, a sort of ease that was slinky rather than forced. They looked around the room with eagle-eyes, waiting for their prey to come forward

He was pulled from his wonderings by a sudden warmth by his side.

It was the girl from before.

“Pardon me,” she started, voice soft enough that Aziraphale had to lean in close to hear her. “I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t look too familiar.” Her hand inched closer to his, the sort of movement that could pass as accidental, their fingertips brushing. “I think I’d remember a man like you.”

He straightened, bringing both of his hands to his chest to pull at his waistcoat. “Oh no,” he countered. “I assure you that I’m very forgettable.” 

He had ensured it.

The girl laughed, a beautiful sound that tinkled like bells. A practiced sound. 

“You haven’t been here before have you, Mr…?” A little bit of the demure act seemed to fade as she lifted her chin to look him in the eye.

“Fell,” he answered. “Mr. Fell.”

The girl’s smile was crooked, the sort of smile that spoke of country fields and mischievous adventures under the light of the stars. 

“I have someone I’d like for you to meet, Mr. Fell,” the girl said, standing up. “And I do believe that she’ll be able to give you exactly what you need. Even if you don’t know what that is.” 

Her hand was small in his, delicate. She didn’t pull at him so much as suggest a movement. 

She lead him to a door off to the side, removed from the rest of the parlour by a clever arrangement of furniture. 

“What is your name, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

The girl looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Victoria.”

The room she lead him into seemed to be a study, a single window allowing light in. There was a bookshelf behind a large desk, at which sat a woman in a dark purple gown.

The woman looked up at their approach.

“Victoria?” the woman asked, eyebrows slightly raised. “Has this man been making a ruckus? You know you’re supposed to go to Shadwell about that.”

Victoria shook her head and pulled Aziraphale forward. “No, Madame,” she said, smiling that same crooked smile from before. “Mr. Fell here just seems a little lost, and I know you take great pleasure in making matches.”

The woman settled back into her chair and grinned. “Very well then,” the woman said. “Now, I do believe that the Johnson fellow who’s so fond of you is expected soon. It’d do well to freshen up.”

Victoria curtsied and left the room, the door falling shut behind her.

Aziraphale let his eyes dart around the room, taking in the names of the books on the shelves. There wasn’t anything too interesting, not really. Mostly the sort of thing a supposed upstanding household would have on display, with the occasional text on commerce sprinkled in.

“Mr. Fell,” the woman said, bringing Aziraphale’s focus back to her. “Take a seat.”

The chair was finer than the ones in the main parlour, but much less comfortable. The study wasn’t meant to comfort.

Aziraphale started fidgeting when the woman said nothing more.

She let it drag on, and Aziraphale’s mind started filling with all sorts of ways he could get out of the situation. The house and its occupants simply vanishing shouldn’t cause too much of a fuss upstairs, considering their sort. He might even get rewarded for it.

He might do it anyway, even. Erase evidence of any pleasure he finds. 

He almost let out a sigh of relief when the still unnamed woman leaned forward and cleared her throat.

“You’ve never done this before, Mr. Fell,” she said with a smirk. 

Aziraphale shook his head with wide eyes. “I assure you I do this frequently!” he insisted. “I am an upstanding gentleman who does upstanding gentlemanly things!”

The woman snorted. “Upstanding?”

He nodded.

“Darling,” the woman started, amusement dancing in her eyes. “This is a whore house. More than that, most of my girls aren’t girls at all. The girls we do have are here for decoration in case the wrong person comes knocking.”

Aziraphale nodded again.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I don’t take too kindly to soliciting, Mr. Fell.”

“I’m not soliciting,” he rushed out. “I really do intend to..ah, well, yes. Not solicit.”

“In that case,” the woman said, grinning. “You can call me Madame Tracy. I have just the boy in mind for you. Lee will be the perfect fit, I think.”

\--

Victoria guided him up the staircase, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. 

They stopped in front of a door. “Now,” she said. “Lee wasn’t ready for any guests, so he’s currently taking a quick bath, which means that he’ll be nice and warm and rosy for you.” Victoria turned to face him. She patted his arm and said, “Do make yourself comfortable in the meantime, Mr. Fell. Lee’s sure to treat you real well.”

Victoria pushed the door open, and Aziraphale stepped forward. He heard it click shut behind him.

He closed his eyes took a deep breath.

Aziraphale opened them again and panic immediately began to rise in his chest. 

This was bad. This was very, very bad. 

He was an angel. A principality. He was standing in the middle of a bedroom in a brothel in London. He was waiting for a prostitute to finish their bath and then they were going to have sex.

He wasn’t married! He wasn’t allowed to get married. He wasn’t allowed to have sex! It was explicitly against the rules! Oh no, no, no, no, no. This was bad, so very bad. Why was he even here?!

Aziraphale breathed deeply three times. Three was a good number. He tried to push the panic down as far as he could. If he pretended his chest wasn’t tight and that he was being perfectly calm and reasonable about this situation, he would be.

He felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. 

The room was rather plain, but lived in. There were some odds and ends on display that showed some sort of personality, a few letters laying out on the dressing table. 

The bed was the most extravagant thing in the room, and Aziraphale felt confident in his guess that the linens were supplied by Madame Tracy. They couldn’t have their clients complaining of filthy or itchy blankets, after all. 

Clients.

Right. That’s what he was. He was here to have sex. More specifically, he was here because he longed to know what it was to get lost in pleasure like the humans spoke so often was. Wanted to feel something deep from within his core come to the surface, blinding all other thought. The utmost pleasure, the peak of humanity’s existence. 

That’s what he wanted, that’s what he was here for.

But he wasn’t going to have it.

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. He was going to be a good angel. He’d tell this Lee that it was all just a misunderstanding. He’d then walk out the door and never return. He could still fix this. 

Giving into this sort of temptation wouldn’t look very good on his record, now would it? He was going to resist.

Aziraphale caught the signature on the bottom of one of the open letters. 

_ With love, _

_ Your Mother _

Ooh, even better! This Lee was still in contact with his family, and it was unlikely he shared the details of his career choices. He had likely stumbled into a boarding house under the wrong assumptions and fell in with the wrong sort after moving to the city. 

Aziraphale would help this Lee! Get him on the right path. Maybe one day he’d be able to be honest in his letters home to his mother about how he passed his days.

He sat down on the chair in front of the dressing table with a flourish, crossing his leg over his knee. Oh, this was perfect. He had been meant to come here, after all. All a part of the ineffable plan, surely.

He was pulled from his moment of selfish triumph by the sound of the door opening.

The boy who Aziraphale assumed was Lee walked through, dressed in nothing but a robe.

A robe that seemed to cling to damp skin in a noticeable manner. Aziraphale shifted. The boy was slim, but healthy. He didn’t have too many sharp edges about him. 

Aziraphale felt disappointed at the observation. Maybe had liked sharp edges?

Lee turned around, eyes widening the smallest bit when they landed on him. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “You must be Mr. Fell.” The boy’s voice and gaze both softened. “Victoria didn’t tell me you were so handsome.”

Aziraphale felt an unwelcome flush rise to his cheeks.

Lee took a step forward. His robe fell off his shoulder, revealing pale skin that glistened in the sunlight streaming in. Aziraphale’s eyes unwittingly followed the strip of skin going down Lee’s chest. He licked his lips.

There was nothing about the boy that screamed professional seducer. In fact, Aziraphale could all too easily see Lee in day dress acting at a clerk under the careful watch of some merchant or other. He had the sort of look to him that seemed to belong nose deep in a book. And yet there was a sort of confidence to his actions, one that spoke of practice but not yet resignation.

He could see why Madame Tracy made the match.

He jumped when he felt a hand go through his hair. “Mr. Fell,” Lee murmured. “I’m afraid that Victoria didn’t tell me too much of what you would like.”

“I think that’d be because I don’t much know,” Aziraphale admitted.

Lee smiled lazily. “A man such as you? Really?” he asked. “You can’t have gone your whole life without any sort of attention paid to you.” The hand in his hair trailed down his neck and started to play at the silk of his cravat. “You’d have caught my eye on the street, you know.”

Before Aziraphale could think of anything to say, he had Lee’s warm weight in his lap.

“This isn’t really-” 

“Shhh,” Lee whispered, placing his finger over Aziraphale’s lips. “Let me take care of you.”

And Lee’s finger was replaced with his lips.

Aziraphale was helpless to the touch, unable to focus on anything but the soft pressure. It was lovely. 

Lee pulled away. “I don’t normally kiss,” he said. “But, there’s something about you.”

Before Lee could lean in again, Aziraphale came to his senses and brought his hand up between them.

“What?” Lee asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh no,” he assured. “I’m sure you’re doing your job rather well. It’s me that’s in the wrong, you see.”

Lee just looked confused, poor boy. 

Aziraphale reached for Lee’s hand and squeezed it, getting Lee to look at him. “You see,” he said. “I’m not here to partake of your services, but rather help you.”

Before Lee could protest, and it looked like he wanted to, Aziraphale grabbed Lee’s chin. “Look at me,” he said, guiding Lee’s face. “In the eyes.”

“You’re going to tell me your name and how I can help you,” he said, instilling a bit of grace into the words. There was no need to blunder through things when he could just ask. Especially if he wanted to make a habit of this, couldn’t act too suspicious. 

An angel making a habit of visiting brothels, funny that.

“Newt,” the boy said, voice flat. “Newton Pulsifer. My mum calls me Newt.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Now Newt, are you happy being here?” he asked.

“Not really,” Newt answered. “It’s not bad, but the friend that my mum said would take me in had been lying. I don’t know what else to do, this was the first place that took me in.”

“And what were you supposed to do?” 

“I was going to be working under a family friend, my mum said he’s a tailor,” Newton said.

Aziraphale nodded. “And how do I get you out of here?”

“I have to pay Madame Tracy back for everything she’s given me,” Newton stated. “Or I have to have a client who fancies me enough to pay for that and than keep me up somewhere.”

Aziraphale was delighted. This was perfect.

He let go of Newton’s chin.

Newton pulled away, blinking in confusion. Aziraphale reached out to steady him before he fell onto the floor. 

“Now that that’s all set, how do I keep you?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to reach out to me at my [tumblr](http://ashilrak.tumblr.com/)


End file.
